


The Point of No Return

by Cobrilee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Breeding Kink, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Infertility, Jackson Whittemore Being an Asshole, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Mpreg, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Rimming, Self-Lubrication, Sexual Fantasy, Single Parent Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 13:22:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20210455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cobrilee/pseuds/Cobrilee
Summary: Derek’s life follows a strict routine. He gets up in the morning before Carter, works out, prepares breakfast for them both, showers, and gets ready for work while Carter gets ready for school. He takes Carter to school, drops him off, and heads in to work. He attends meetings, signs off on paperwork, talks on the phone far more than he’s comfortable with, and, when his work day is over, he gets to go home.To Stiles.And Carter, of course. But also Stiles.Stiles, the omega who’d foolishly answered his ad for a nanny when Carter started kindergarten and his previous nanny had decided to retire. Stiles, who didn’t seem to give a fuck that Derek was a single alpha, that Derek’s house would smell like the alpha-omega combination, and that Derek would inevitably start to see Stiles as his omega.It wasn’t a guarantee that Derek would want to mate Stiles, obviously. There were plenty of alphas and omegas who interacted every day without feeling the need to bone each other. But Stiles… Derek knew the moment he met Stiles that his wolf would never be satisfied with anyone else.





	The Point of No Return

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FiccinDylan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiccinDylan/gifts).

> For the lovely and hilarious StickyKeys, who bid on me a full damn year ago and requested something along these lines. Lord I'm sorry for how long this took, but hopefully it's worth the wait!
> 
> Thank you to both [rhysiana](https://rhysiana.tumblr.com/) and [eeyore9990](https://eeyore9990.tumblr.com/) for the beta read! I appreciate you ladies a whole bunch!

Derek’s life follows a strict routine. He gets up in the morning before Carter, works out, prepares breakfast for them both, showers, and gets ready for work while Carter gets ready for school. He takes Carter to school, drops him off, and heads in to work. He attends meetings, signs off on paperwork, talks on the phone far more than he’s comfortable with, and, when his work day is over, he gets to go home.

To Stiles. 

And Carter, of course. But also Stiles. 

Stiles, the omega who’d foolishly answered his ad for a nanny when Carter started kindergarten and his previous nanny had decided to retire. Stiles, who didn’t seem to give a fuck that Derek was a single alpha, that Derek’s house would smell like the alpha-omega combination, and that Derek would inevitably start to see Stiles as  _ his _ omega.

It wasn’t a guarantee that Derek would want to mate Stiles, obviously. There were plenty of alphas and omegas who interacted every day without feeling the need to bone each other. But Stiles… Derek knew the moment he met Stiles that his wolf would never be satisfied with anyone else.

“Hey, boss,” Stiles says easily when Derek lets himself into the house. It smells amazing, but Derek never knows if that’s because Stiles is a good housekeeper, or he just smells that good. “Carter is upstairs doing the last of his reading homework. I let him play video games for a half hour first because he got three gold stars at school today.”

Derek has to stop himself from ducking in to drop a kiss to the back of Stiles' neck, while simultaneously sniffing over his shoulder at whatever he’s preparing for dinner. It’s far too domestic and loving for one man paying another to watch his child. “That’s fine with me, Stiles. What’s for dinner?”

“Carter suggested pan-seared chicken wrapped in prosciutto and smothered in mozzarella and marinara, with sauteed asparagus and rosemary oregano new potatoes,” Stiles tells him, and Derek has to fight not to drool. 

“Carter suggested, huh?” he comments, voice dry, and Stiles turns a little, giving him a shrug and a sheepish grin.

“Okay, so maybe he suggested macaroni and cheese and hot dogs, which I vetoed, and we then looked up recipes until we found one we agreed on.” Stiles slices off the end of a piece of chicken in the pan and sticks the fork over his shoulder, in the general direction of Derek’s mouth. “Try it, let me know if it needs to cook longer.”

Derek accepts the offered bite, trying not to shiver at both the flavors bursting over his tongue, and the warm domestic feeling of his omega cooking and providing for him. 

Not  _ his _ omega. But the omega who feels like his.

“It’s good,” he says, non-committal, and Stiles pouts. “Okay, it’s pretty fantastic, is that what you wanted to hear?”

Stiles beams. “Duh.” He gestures at Derek to move back and then he does as well, pulling open the oven door. The aroma of seasonings and potato wafts out at Derek and he thinks, not for the first time, that the day Stiles answered that ad has to be the second-best day of his life. 

“Do you need me to do anything?” he asks, already knowing what the answer is, just as Stiles always knows he’ll ask. 

“Nah, just go get out of your work clothes, say hi to Carter. He wants to show you the book report he wrote. It won’t be too long until dinner is ready, though. The potatoes have ten minutes or so left, and the chicken can just simmer until then.”

Derek feels a surge of warmth he can’t contain. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Stiles blinks at him. “Hire someone else? There are a lot of omegas who’d love to be a nanny and housekeeper and cook for a gorgeous, successful alpha.”

“Maybe, but there’s no one else out there like you.” He feels an uncomfortable flush on the verge of blooming all over his face, both because of his unwitting admission, and the knowledge that Stiles thinks he’s gorgeous. “I’m going to go change real quick and check in on Carter. Call us when dinner’s ready.”

Stiles gives him a parody of a salute. “Sure thing, boss.”

Boss. Right.

\-----

To his shame, he uses that one little word, the snarky salute, to fuel his fantasies when he's alone later that night. Carter's in bed and Stiles is out, taking advantage of the few hours of his day where he doesn't have to be on call for the Hales. 

They're also the few hours Derek needs to exhaust himself so that he doesn't proposition his employee. 

Once he's settled in bed with lube in his hand, he brings back to mind the smell of Stiles’ skin, the warmth radiating from his neck which Derek had only barely restrained himself from pressing his tongue against. He recalls the mirth in his eyes when Stiles had called him boss, which he only does occasionally, and only when he wants to tease. It's enough to have him thickening, his cock swelling in his hand while he strokes himself. He's ashamed of how often he thinks of Stiles like this, but the alternative is far too horrifying to imagine. 

Derek quickens his pace as his mind flickers to another scenario, one he's enjoyed several times. In it, Stiles is truly  _ his _ omega, and Carter is at a friend's house for the evening, so they have the place to themselves. Derek's skin goes hot as he imagines fucking Stiles in every room, starting with bending him over the island in the kitchen. He groans, working himself leisurely while visualizing spreading Stiles open on his cock, driving into him until he loses control and comes all over the sweat-slick, skin-warmed marble. 

They move to the couch afterward, ostensibly for a respite, but it doesn't take long before Stiles straddles his lap, rocking his hips to entice Derek back to full hardness. He grips Stiles’ hips, lifting him so he can slide back down and take Derek’s dick in fully. Derek lays back against the couch, letting Stiles take the lead and set the pace, riding him fast and hard, his eyebrows furrowed while his eyes shut tight and his mouth falls open. When he comes, it lands on Derek's chest, and Stiles works it into his skin, marking him with the scent of his omega the way Stiles has been marked by his alpha. 

This is always the point where Derek knows he's about to come, and he slows himself down. He moves the fantasy to their room, with Stiles sprawled on his stomach across their bed, one leg pulled up so his knee is parallel to his hip. He gazes back over his shoulder, eyes smoky and smoldering, and tips his ass up in invitation. Derek drops onto his stomach between Stiles’ thighs, spreading his cheeks apart to admire the dark pink of his stretched, fluttering rim before dipping in and pressing his tongue inside it. Stiles whines and lifts his hips, pressing himself further onto Derek's tongue, and Derek takes him apart thoroughly with every lick, every thrust, every gentle stroke of the tip over Stiles’ wet hole. 

The last stop on the journey is their shower. Derek drops to his knees in front of Stiles, blinking away the water droplets that drip from his eyelashes and cascade over his cheeks, and swallows his husband's cock. He keeps one hand around the base of it, alternately squeezing and stroking, taking every thrust down his throat with an eagerness that he's never felt with anyone else. Stiles threads his fingers through Derek's hair, yanking his head back so he can see the way Derek's throat swells every time he fucks into it. 

Before Stiles can come, Derek pulls off and stands, wiping a hand over his face to clear the water away. He spins Stiles, using his knee to nudge his thighs apart and a hand between his shoulders to push him into leaning forward slightly. Stiles’ hands come up so he can brace himself against the shower wall, and they both groan as Derek sinks slowly inside him, pushing forward until his hips meet the round curve of Stiles’ ass. Stiles drops his shoulders, pushing backward to take Derek deeper, and Derek sets up a punishing pace. Stiles cries out with every brutal thrust, his legs shaking, and that just drives Derek to go harder. He wants to imprint this moment on Stiles so thoroughly that there will never be a question that they are mates, meant only for each other, and bound for life. 

Derek is so lost in his fantasy, in the intense pleasure curling his toes and spiking up through every nerve in his body, that he doesn't recognize the danger when he distantly hears the front door open. When his orgasm spirals through him and his back arches, and he comes all over his chest, his hand, and his sheets, he can't help but yell out, a hoarse, broken cry of, “ _ Stiles _ !”

There's an utter stillness in the house, interrupted only by his harsh, erratic breathing as he comes down from the euphoria and settles into something sated and sleepy. He knows he should probably clean up, but he doesn't have the energy to lift himself out of the bed, let alone take a shower or change his sheets. 

As he drifts off, he promises himself that he'll get up early enough to change them before he leaves. 

\-----

He does not, actually, get up early enough to change his sheets, which he doesn't even think about until his lunch meeting. He wants to text Stiles and tell him not to bother with the laundry, but doesn't have an opportunity. He convinces himself that Stiles has no reason to change his sheets, he only did it two days ago, so he should be safe. 

When he gets home, he gives Stiles a hurried greeting before heading for his room. And slumps in dismay when he sees the crisp, clean burgundy sheets on his bed, which are markedly different than the muted, silvery-gray ones he'd left covered in his come. 

He goes back out to the open-concept kitchen/dining/living room, and the expanse of square footage between where he stands and where Stiles dances at the stove feels like an uncrossable distance. Stiles doesn't seem disgusted or uncomfortable with his presence, though; in fact, he seems more cheerful than usual. Derek hesitates, waiting just long enough that Stiles spins and beckons him into the kitchen. 

“Try this,” he commands as soon as Derek gets close enough, and holds out a spoonful of a creamy white sauce. Derek doesn't choke at the implication, but it's a near thing. Instead, he takes the spoon between his lips, keeping his eyes on Stiles’, and feels gratified when those honey-gold eyes widen, deepening to a molten amber. 

“It's perfect,” he says, voice rough, once he's swallowed the hollandaise. “What are we having?”

Stiles shifts, dropping his gaze and pivoting back to the stove. “Parisian Eggs Benedict,” he answers, gesturing at the Swiss cheese, sliced ham, portobello mushrooms, and chives sitting on the cutting board next to him. “I was going to make them with crab cakes instead, but the crab didn't smell fresh enough.”

“This will be fantastic,” Derek assures him, and Stiles hums in acknowledgement but otherwise stays silent. Derek waits for a beat, clears his throat. Stiles glances over his shoulder, waiting him out. “Thanks, by the way. For changing my sheets.”

He doesn't know what to expect. Will Stiles flush in embarrassment, or act like it's nothing? 

Stiles shrugs, turning around and popping a slice of mushroom in Derek's mouth. Derek accepts it on his tongue, watching as Stiles’ eyes dart down to watch him draw it in and chew slowly. “My job is to make your life easy and comfortable. It wouldn't have been all that comfortable to try to go to sleep in crusty sheets, not with as much come as there was in them.”

Derek chokes on the mushroom. 

“Don’t you think that’s a little inappropriate?” he asks slowly, phrasing the question with as much care as he can manage. “Considering I’m your employer?”

“You came calling out my name, so I’d have to say you were probably the one being inappropriate,” Stiles shoots back, but his grin is sly, knowing. “Although I’m flattered you came that much while thinking about me.”

He twists, then, turning back and giving the hollandaise a stir while slicing up the ham, apparently not noticing that he’s rendered Derek speechless. “Why don’t you tell Carter it’s time to wash up? I’m going to put the eggs on, and once they’re ready dinner will only be a couple minutes off.”

Blinking, Derek turns to head upstairs and pass along the instructions to his son, but his mind whirls. Stiles heard him last night? He’d thought Stiles was out of the… His thoughts trail off as he remembers the faint recognition of the front door opening, but he’d been so close to orgasm at the time that it hadn’t really registered what that meant. 

His cheeks flame at the realization that his nanny heard him getting off to extremely pornographic thoughts of what they could do together. Then again, it didn’t exactly seem like the thought bothered Stiles. In fact, Derek would say that Stiles was on the verge of flirting with him during that little conversation.

It makes him wonder how far Stiles can push him before he breaks. 

\-----

"I'm home!" he calls out as he opens the front door the next night, but his greeting gets drowned out by the shrieking giggles of his seven-year-old son. 

"Stop, Stiles!" he cries, but the sound is of breathless laughter, so Derek isn't concerned. "No fair tickling me, it was in our rules!" 

Derek can hear Stiles pick Carter up and haul him around, accompanied by more shrieking. When he pokes his head into the family room, he sees Carter over Stiles' shoulder and hanging upside down, his face pressed into Stiles' back. It's certainly not the first time he's seen Stiles and Carter playing, but the sheer domesticity of it curls in his chest with a pleasant ache. 

Stiles catches a glimpse of Derek and winks over his shoulder as he loosens his grip, letting Carter drop another couple inches. Carter yells, locking his arms around Stiles' waist to keep from falling further. "If I recall correctly, it was also in our rules that you weren't allowed to bite me. Looks like you're only okay with the rules when they benefit you, huh?" 

Carter squirms. "I didn't actually bite. I gnawed."

"Yeah, and got dog slobber all over my shirtsleeve," Stiles counters, wrinkling his nose in distaste. But he hauls Carter up anyway, flipping him over so he's standing upright, holding onto his shoulder until the blood rush to the head passes. He smirks at Derek. "He's got your talent for getting around things on technicalities."

"I've taught him well." He returns Stiles' smirk. "But he knows better than to bite."

Stiles closes the distance between them, his eyes darkening when he says, "That's okay, big guy. I never mind a little light biting."

Fire shoots through Derek's belly, and Stiles winks before turning back to Carter. "Come help me get the macaroni going for dinner. I was thinking a five cheese macaroni and cheese bake, with homemade meatballs."

Carter cheers as he races for the kitchen. "I love you, Stiles!" 

Stiles chuckles, and as he leaves the room, Derek can't help but think his son isn't the only one. 

\-----

Over the next several weeks Stiles' flirting gets bolder, more blatant, and Derek has an extraordinarily difficult time reminding himself that Stiles is his employee. Entertaining sexual fantasies of him, jerking off to the thought of burying his cock in Stiles' beautiful ass, may be inappropriate, but it's ultimately harmless. Acting on those desires, however, is unacceptable. 

Derek's not sure Stiles got that memo. 

Carter’s in bed, finally, and he and Stiles are watching a movie. Derek doesn’t even know what it’s about, because he’s so hyperaware of Stiles next to him on the couch that he can’t focus on the movie at all. He can feel the line of heat at his side, even though he’s shifted away every time Stiles shifts toward him.

He can smell the way Stiles wants him, and it’s a special kind of torture to keep himself from moving in for the kill.

“She needs to show him how to get a little dirty.”

Derek jerks, snapped out of his fantasy of Stiles crawling across the couch and into his lap. “Hmm?”

Stiles gestures at the screen. “Geoff. He’s so buttoned up, so proper. Elena needs to push him until he forgets about propriety and fucks her against a wall.”

His cock twitches in his pants and Derek closes his eyes, willing himself to calm down. It’s just a movie on a couch, for God’s sake. They’re not seventeen. He can handle this. “More people need to respect the conventions of propriety. This world is far too uncivilized as it is.”

Stiles studies him, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Sounds like Geoff’s not the only one who’s a little too buttoned up for his own good. But who’s going to be the one to push you?” His voice drops to a murmur at the end, and Derek swallows hard.

“Stiles.”

“Yes, sir?”

Derek bites back a groan as his cock thickens. Just the words alone are a tease, and a torment. “This is verging on extremely inappropriate.”

Stiles watches him steadily, and Derek’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed when he can see the capitulation in his gaze. There’s still a little sass in him, however, as he responds, “Yes, Mr. Hale.”

Oh, fuck.

Something sparks in Stiles’ eyes and he glances down at Derek’s lap, and Derek’s certain Stiles can smell the desire on him the same way he can smell it on Stiles. “I think it’s time for me to head for bed. I have to be up early to get Carter to his field trip.”

Derek nods wordlessly as Stiles rises from the couch and goes around the back of it. He doesn’t think he imagines the feel of Stiles’ fingertips skimming across the back of his neck as he passes.

His dick certainly doesn’t, either.

\-----

Stiles starts staying home at night more often than he used to. Not that he’s ever been much of a party animal, but he definitely takes advantage of his personal time, which Derek respects. He might be a member of the household, but taking care of Carter, keeping the house up, doing all the family’s cooking, that’s his job. He deserves to get away from it when he can.

“You haven’t been out with your friends in awhile,” Derek observes one night when Stiles flops on the couch and turns on the TV. Derek’s across the room at the dining room table, running numbers for his meeting the next morning. He could easily be doing it in his office instead, where he’d have more privacy, but he’s found that he doesn’t want more privacy from Stiles.

“They’ve been busy,” Stiles answers with a shrug, then turns back to focus on the show. “Besides, I’m happy being here. Going out and getting drunk and getting laid doesn’t have the same appeal it used to.”

Derek goes still, and he can see Stiles looking at him out of the corner of his eye, waiting out his reaction. “Getting laid was a priority for you, I take it?”

Stiles snorts. “I’m twenty-four years old, Derek.” He rarely uses Derek’s first name, and it pleases him now that Stiles feels comfortable talking to him as if they’re friends. “Of course getting laid was a priority.”

“You’ve never brought anyone home.”

Stiles turns then, and looks at him in disbelief. “I would never drag some random one-nighter back to your home, where your son lives and sleeps. It was only about sex, not about building anything. Usually we’d fuck in the bathroom or in the alley or something, enough for me to get my itch scratched, and then part ways.”

He hates the rush of jealousy at the idea of Stiles getting pressed up against some dingy brick wall next to a dumpster, wrapping his legs around some random person’s waist. “But that’s no longer something you want?”

Stiles stills, then turns back to the TV. “Getting fucked by someone who means nothing to me isn’t fun anymore. I just barely get off, and that’s only because...” He trails off. “Never mind. We’re pushing past that line of being inappropriate, again.”

He knows they are, but he can’t help pushing it, now that they’re talking about this. “Do you think maybe you’re ready to find someone you can be serious about?”

“I already have.” The words are a whisper, and he’s not sure if Stiles even means to say them. “He just isn’t ready to be serious about me.”

Derek stares at the back of Stiles’ head, but Stiles has gone silent and ignores him as he continues to watch his show. It makes him wonder.

Maybe acting on his desires isn’t as unacceptable as he’d once thought.

\-----

“Please, Papa?”

Derek rubs the space between his eyes, closing them briefly in order to avoid his son’s pleading stare. “I don’t know, Carter. I’ve never met this friend, or their parents.”

“Stiles has.” He pouts, his lower lip sticking out. “This is the first time anyone has invited me to a birthday sleepover. Please, Papa, can I go?”

He looks over at Stiles, who’s watching the exchange but keeping his mouth shut. “You’ve met them?”

Stiles shrugs. “Yeah, a few times. Liliana’s played here after school, and her mother usually picks her up. She’s sweet and friendly, and I’ve never gotten any bad vibes off her.”

“What about the father?” 

“He works with my dad, actually. He’s a good deputy, always plays by the rules, no overt aggression. My dad says he’s never had a reason to be concerned.”

Derek looks back at Carter, whose puppy dog eyes have gone from pleading to “you’re my only hope”. “How many other kids will be there?”

Carter bounces in his seat. “It’s going to be me and Lili and Adele and Luka.”

Derek looks to Stiles, who smiles reassuringly. “Adele and Luka are good kids. We’ve played with them at the park, and they’re very respectful and considerate. Really, this whole birthday party sounds fine.”

“If Stiles says it’s fine, then I’m okay with it,” Derek acquiesces, and Carter squeals and runs for his phone to let his friend know the good news. “Do you know when this is all taking place?”

Stiles grabs his phone and scrolls to the right text. “Deborah, Liliana’s mom, said she plans to come pick the kids up Friday afternoon. They’ll do pizza and a movie and laser tag, then back to the house for the sleepover. She’ll drop them all off sometime Saturday morning, although it’ll probably be closer to lunchtime.”

Derek’s heart starts thudding. “So. Do you have any plans for Friday night, since you’ll apparently be off duty?”

A slow smile spreads across Stiles’ face. “No, as a matter of fact. I thought I’d stay in for the night. What about you? Since you don’t have to come home to spend time with your son.”

This is, Derek realizes, a moment of truth. One from which he can’t turn back. 

_ Fuck it _ , he thinks, and steps off the cliff.

“Actually, I thought I’d come home and unbutton a little bit.”

Stiles’ smile turns wicked. “Ready for that push, are you?”

His eyes flash red, and Stiles swallows. Derek allows his gaze to track the line of Stiles’ throat. He brings his eyes back up to Stiles’, satisfied at the way they glow whiskey-gold with desire. “I don’t let anyone push me, Stiles. Not even you.” 

\-----

On the surface, coming home on Friday night is just like any other night. He walks in the front door and the smells of dinner waft enticingly toward him. He can hear Stiles moving around in the kitchen as he puts the finishing touches on the meal. 

But it isn't like any other night. Carter is gone, and will be until tomorrow. Stiles' gait is a little off, and Derek can smell lube. 

Along with thick, heady, overpowering arousal. 

He stops in the entry to the kitchen, leaning against the door frame, and watches Stiles at the stove. He shifts a little and Derek can smell a fresh wave of desire flare. Glancing down at Stiles' ass, he sees a slight protrusion against the back of the slacks that look painted onto him. 

His cock jumps a little and he crosses the kitchen, crowding in behind Stiles. "Smells delicious."

Stiles leans back, just to the point where he's almost but not quite touching Derek's chest, and tips his head slightly to the side, exposing his neck. "I thought you might like it."

"I do." He leans in, his nose millimeters from Stiles' neck, and inhales. "I also like this."

Dropping his hand, he runs one finger over the cleft of Stiles' ass, lightly pressing the base of the plug and feeling it slide deeper into him. Stiles lets out a choked whimper and tilts his ass backward. Derek strokes his hand further down, using his first and third fingers to separate Stiles' cheeks as much as he can through the tight fabric, and his middle to push the plug harder. 

He can smell precome leaking from Stiles' cock, and wants nothing more than to drop to his knees and suck Stiles into his throat. 

Instead, he steps back, ignoring Stiles' noise of protest. "Is dinner nearly ready?" 

Stiles twists to stare at him in dismay. "I didn't think you'd actually care about dinner."

"I'm hungry." He stares at Stiles, a placid expression on his face to counteract how hard he's growing. "I'm going upstairs to clean up while you finish here."

He doesn't look at Stiles as he turns to leave the kitchen, but he can feel his confusion. That's okay. Derek wants the upper hand here. He wants the control. 

And he's certain Stiles will be okay with giving it to him. 

When he comes back downstairs, dinner is on the table. He gestures for Stiles to sit, and he does, grimacing a bit. 

"Is the plug uncomfortable?" Derek asks, his tone mild, and Stiles shakes his head. 

"It feels good," he grits out, gripping the edge of the table. "But I've been mostly hard for awhile."

"So another twenty minutes should be nothing." Derek takes his place across from Stiles, then takes a bite of the chicken and butternut squash risotto. "This is excellent, as always."

"You're welcome." Stiles rocks a bit in his seat and Derek watches hungrily as his pants get tight across his lap. "Please tell me we're not going to draw this meal out."

Derek forks up another bite and chews, taking his time. When he swallows, he sets his fork down. "I'd hate for either of us to get indigestion from eating too fast."

"I hate you."

Derek's eyes flash. "Careful, Stiles. If you keep speaking to me like that, I'll have to assume you don't want me to bend you over and fuck you."

Stiles sulks. "Right now I'm thinking I'd do just fine fucking myself with this plug, with my hand around my dick."

"As much as I'd enjoy seeing that, I have other plans for tonight." He gestures at their food. "Finish your meal, please."

Just to be contrary, Stiles shovels his food into his mouth, finishing several bites ahead of Derek. "Happy?" he asks, sarcasm dripping from his voice. 

"Not yet." He pushes his chair back from the table as he stands. "I'll clear the table. You load the dishwasher."

Stiles stares at him in disbelief. "Are you serious?" 

"I don't want to come back downstairs to a mess." He pauses, lifting his lips in a sharp grin that shows off his equally sharp teeth. "There'll be enough of one in my bed as it is."

He's rewarded with a groan pulled deep from within Stiles' chest, and the further tenting of his pants. "Maybe I'll just plug it up inside me."

"Is that so? You want to keep my come inside you?" He stalks toward Stiles, eyes glowing red, dishes forgotten. "You want me to breed you, filling you with my come and then my pups?" 

He's half-hard at the thought, imagining Stiles with a belly round from his cubs. He watches as Stiles' eyes dilate with arousal, and his dick thickens. 

"Jesus, yes," he breathes shakily. "I've wanted that for almost two years."

The raw honesty in his voice nearly undoes Derek. He moves in to Stiles, spinning him until his stomach presses against the counter, his ass tipped up toward Derek's groin. Derek leans in, his cock rubbing up against the base of the plug through the layers of fabric. "I'm going to fuck you," he rasps. "I'm going to breed you, then knot you, and fill you so full of come it would be next to impossible for you to not end up pregnant." 

His hand sneaks around Stiles' stomach, his fingers splaying wide over the flat planes. "I can't wait to see your belly swollen with my pups."

Stiles keens, rocking back against him, and Derek drops his hand to rip at the button and zipper of Stiles' slacks. As soon as it's loose enough, he slides one hand down the back of them and grips a handful of Stiles' ass, massaging the flesh, kneading it, drawing more desperate little noises from Stiles' throat. He pulls upward and Stiles lifts onto his toes, settling into his palm like his ass was made to fit Derek’s hands.

NSFW GIF ahead, click to skip

Safe to look again

His cock aches, but he ignores it. He wants to seduce Stiles, not just bend him over and fuck the hell out of him. Which he'll do. Just not right away. 

"Where is this coming from?" Stiles groans, tipping his head back until he's laying on Derek's shoulder, his face turned to Derek's throat. "I've wanted you for years, but you've been the picture of restraint the entire time I've worked for you. Until I heard you crying out my name while coming your brains out, I couldn't even be sure you were interested." 

Derek toys with the plug again, pulling it out part way and then feeling Stiles' ass suck it back in. "I'm an alpha, Stiles. I have better self control than most, but when I'm pushed past my limits, my instincts take over. And my instincts," he breathes, the air tickling past Stiles' ear, "are telling me to mount you, knot you, and mate you."

"I like your instincts," Stiles murmurs, rolling his hips back into Derek's firm grip, and Derek squeezes his ass again. "But what I hear you saying is that I did, in fact, push you. Past your limits, to use your words." 

Derek smirks, grabbing the base of the plug and pulling slowly, watching as Stiles' hole spreads to accommodate the bulb of the plug. When he's withdrawn it completely, his eyes go red again at the sight of Stiles' gaping hole, his pink rim stretched and pulsing, the skin shiny with slick. 

"Apparently you're the only one who can," Derek rumbles, slipping two fingers into Stiles' ass, stroking forward and feeling the gush of slick around them. He presses deeper and Stiles chokes on a whimper, thrusting his ass down against the intrusion. 

He continues fingering Stiles while reaching down to undo his own pants one-handed, pushing them down around his thighs, along with his underwear. His cock bobs, long and thick and slapping lightly against his stomach, pre-come beading up at the slit and wetting the head. 

Stiles leans forward until he's splayed out over the counter top, just like in Derek's fantasy. He glances over his shoulder, eyes dark, pupils blown, and wiggles his ass around Derek's plunging fingers. "C'mon, alpha, I've been dreaming of this for years. Fuck me already." 

Derek smirks down at him, sliding his fingers out and grabbing Stiles' ass with both hands, squeezing his cheeks together and then spreading them wide, exposing his gaping hole. "Don't you want foreplay?" he teases, voice rough, and Stiles grumbles. 

"Haven't we been doing that for weeks?" he counters. "I don't want to take this slow. I want your knot, and I want it now."

"Pushy," Derek scolds. He nudges the tip of his cock into Stiles' ass, pushing just hard enough to slip the head in, then stills. Stiles whines and tries to push backward, but Derek holds tight to his hips, keeping him pinned against the counter. He works the head in just a tiny bit deeper, then pulls back until it's almost free of Stiles' clenching rim. 

He continues the small movements, fucking Stiles with just the head of his dick until Stiles impatiently presses his hands against the counter and pushes back against his chest. Derek anticipates the move and doesn't hold Stiles down, and the abrupt gesture forces Stiles all the way back onto Derek's cock. They both swear as Derek seats himself fully inside Stiles, balls tight against the backs of Stiles' thighs. 

"Oh, fuck," Stiles moans, almost breathless as he shifts against Derek, working himself back a little more until his ass presses to Derek's hips, taking Derek as deep as he can go. "God. Derek."

"Tell me what you want, baby," he murmurs, but instead of answering, Stiles grabs his hand and pulls it forward. Derek takes the hint and wraps his fingers around the iron bar of Stiles' dick, stroking it slowly as he pulls back, then eases forward. Stiles rocks his hips, thrusting forward into Derek's tight fist and then back onto his cock. 

"I need you to fuck me like I’m your personal toy. I need you to  _ take _ me," Stiles breathes. “No holding back."

Derek groans. His hips are already picking up the pace, and more slick leaks from Stiles as Derek fucks into him, jacking his cock simultaneously. Stiles drops his head into his arms, which he’s folded over the counter, and spreads his legs further to allow Derek to get deeper with every thrust. He's been reduced to short, shuddering moans and his heart stutters every time Derek's hips rock forward. 

He hammers deep into Stiles' ass while Stiles lays blissfully against the cool granite counter and takes every thrust, the air filled with the sounds of Derek’s hips colliding with the back of Stiles’ thighs. It doesn’t take long before Derek decides he needs more, and he wraps an arm around Stiles' chest and hauls him up. Stiles tips his head enough so that Derek can slant his mouth over Stiles', and Stiles' lips part underneath him. Derek groans against the soft, slick plushness of them, his tongue tasting every last drop of the intoxicating flavor he's fantasized about since the day Stiles walked in his door. His free hand slides over Stiles' nipple, plucking at it with two fingers and then rubbing lazy circles over it with the pad of his thumb.

Stiles whimpers under the intensity of the kiss and his hips start hitching upward into Derek's grip, and Derek can smell how close he is to coming. He fucks upward with short, hard strokes, his thighs and balls now soaking wet with Stiles' slick, and lets out a harsh breath when Stiles breaks the kiss and cries out. 

"Fuck, Derek, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna-!"

Stiles sobs as his body seizes up and clenches down, and Derek strokes his cock through every spurt, come striping the cupboards below the counter top. He works Stiles until his cock is empty and he squirms away from the overstimulation. 

Pulling out slowly, his own dick still hard and red and bobbing lightly, Derek takes a deep breath. The scent of come, and slick, and  _ Stiles  _ overwhelms him and his head swims. 

Stiles leans against the counter, his legs shaky, and Derek takes the opportunity to sink to his knees. Before Stiles knows what he's doing, Derek has his cheeks spread and his tongue between them, licking up the slick that's virtually dripping down his crack. 

Moaning, Stiles squirms forward and then back against Derek's tongue. "Christ, Derek, I literally just came. You think you could cut me a little slack?" 

"No," he mumbles against the thin skin of Stiles' ass. Pulling back, he adds, "I've been wanting to taste you for longer than I care to admit. I could smell you leaking every time you jacked off in your room, and it drove me crazy."

Stiles swallows hard and reaches back to hold his cheeks open for Derek, who goes back to feasting on him until every drop is licked clean. 

With the first wave of their intense need sated for the moment, both of them take the time to kick their pants and underwear off from around their ankles, and shrug out of the shirts that are barely hanging on their arms. Fully nude now, Derek allows his hands to roam over every inch of Stiles' skin that he can reach, and Stiles steps into him, eyes half-closed. The length of Derek's erection nestles into the cleft of Stiles' thighs, snugged up against his softened cock. 

Dropping to his knees, Stiles kisses the head of Derek's dick, licking away the precome and the remainder of his slick. Derek groans, fisting his hands around Stiles' hair, tugging gently as Stiles trails kisses up and down his length, tongue curling around him in turns, until Stiles draws back enough to get the head in his mouth. 

Derek nearly yells when Stiles sucks him down, his cock twitching and pulsing out precome onto the back of Stiles' tongue. Stiles moans around the length of him, pulling back and then sliding back down, taking a little more of him. He repeats the motions until Derek ends up pushing into the back of his throat, thrusting his hips helplessly, and Stiles clutches his ass, pulling him in harder. 

Derek had had no idea that Stiles could deep throat, but now that he knows, it's going to feature prominently in his fantasies. 

"God, I want to fuck your face," he rasps, and Stiles' fingers dig deeper into the flesh of his ass as he nods eagerly. Derek takes that as permission and pulls out, then thrusts back in. Stiles swallows him down, tongue sliding up the underside of Derek's cock. Derek lets out a harsh breath as he fucks forward again, the head of his cock pushing into Stiles' throat repeatedly, and he can feel Stiles breathing through his nose, every exhale a rush of air through the trail of dark hair leading down to his dick. 

He'd been close while fucking Stiles, and now he can feel the rush of heat in his groin, his stomach and balls tightening. He tugs on Stiles' hair as he grits out, "I'm going to come," and tries to pull back. 

Stiles, however, doesn't let him; he drops his head and continues to take Derek deep. Derek's breathing goes ragged and his hips stutter forward inelegantly until he stiffens, curling forward as he comes, the rush of it coating the back of Stiles' tongue and flooding down his throat. 

Stiles swallows him down, over and over again, and he doesn't seem overwhelmed by the amount of come an alpha produces. He just keeps swallowing until Derek's cock stops pulsing, and even once Derek is done, he continues to hold Derek in his mouth while he remains on his knees. He looks up at Derek through his eyelashes, eyes half-lidded, and Derek has to grip the edge of the counter to steady himself. 

"Stand up," he says, and Stiles pulls off his softening dick and lifts himself to his feet. "How long will it be before you're ready to take me again?" 

Stiles blinks wide eyes at him, choking out a half-laugh. "Holy shit, Derek, you don't fuck around, do you?" 

Derek shrugs, heading for his room and glancing over his shoulder to make sure Stiles follows. "You want to be knotted. I want to knot you. That alone tells me we're far from done tonight."

Stiles does follow, limping a little. "Slow down, big guy. I haven't been worked over that hard in, well, ever. I'm not moving as easy as usual."

"You want me to carry you?" Derek smirks; Stiles looks wary.

Holding up his hands, he backs up a step. "Let's not go crazy. I'm a big boy, I can walk on my own."

"I know you can." He scoops Stiles in his arms, eyes mirthful. "But what kind of alpha would I be if I didn't take care of my omega?" 

" _ Your _ omega, huh?" Stiles considers him shrewdly. "You're the possessive type, I take it?" 

"Only when it's you." He carries Stiles back to his room and lays him down gently, then follows. 

Stiles hums contentedly and Derek runs a finger down his chest, over his stomach to his groin. He stops just shy of the tip of Stiles' cock, which is half-hard again, and strokes lazily back and forth over the trail of soft hair. Stiles arches up into the touch and whines a little, just under his breath. Pride makes Derek preen; he loves that it only takes the barest touch for Stiles to react. 

He shifts until he's leaning over Stiles and takes him into his mouth, relishing the feel of Stiles growing harder on his tongue. Derek’s own cock has begun to take an interest in his current activities, and as Stiles ruts into his mouth, his dick begins to ache. 

"Need you," Stiles chokes out, hips trembling. "I want your knot, Derek, please."

He's wet again, a heady aroma that has Derek thickening to full hardness. He prepares to slide into Stiles from above, but he's surprised when Stiles lifts up and pushes him down at the same time. Derek finds himself on his back with Stiles straddling him, poised over the head of his dick. 

Stiles sinks down on him, taking Derek's cock to the root, thighs spread wide and knees digging into the bed on either side of Derek's hips. Derek lies still beneath him, letting Stiles adjust, heavy breaths rushing past his lips as he grows accustomed to the feel of taking Derek so deeply. Derek's hands find Stiles' hips and he holds tight, but doesn't pull on them like he wants to. He needs Stiles to be comfortable, to set the pace. 

Instead, he admires Stiles' cock, hard and thick and standing tall, curving against his belly. It's flushed red but not an angry color, on the verge of release. The slit in the wet head opens as another thick droplet of precome wells up and spills over. Derek reaches out with a thumb to smear it, then lifts the thumb to his lips, tongue sweeping over it and collecting the fluid. Stiles tightens around him and when he looks up, Stiles' eyes are hot, a thin line of liquid gold rimming the blown pupils. 

Without breaking eye contact, Stiles slowly lifts his hips until only the head of Derek's dick is still inside him, then slides back down slowly, the slick making it a nice, easy glide. When he bottoms out, ass pressed to Derek's balls, his eyes slip shut and his mouth falls open, and a soft moan trips over his plush, pink lips. 

Derek knows, in that moment, he's lost. He's desired Stiles since the moment they met, has suspected for a long time that the omega is his mate. But now, here, he knows there will never be anyone else for him. All his fantasies of mating Stiles, of claiming him, are coming to life, and the reality is far better than he'd imagined. 

Stiles rocks his hips forward, sliding off Derek a little and then back down, each time more decisively, more firmly, until he's thrusting down with steady force. Derek can't find his voice, as every slap of Stiles' ass against his hips robs him of words and breath both, but Stiles moans and cries out enough for the both of them. 

"Christ, Derek, I knew it would be good, but I didn't know it would be like this," he gasps, reaching up to tweak his nipples, rolling them between his fingers. His dick slaps his belly but he makes no effort to touch it, so Derek wraps his fingers around the hard length and strokes him. "Fuck, oh God, Derek,  _ yes _ , keep doing that!" 

Derek has no problem following directions, so he keeps jerking Stiles with a firm hand and smooth stroke. "Do you want me to make you come before I knot you?" he grits out, but Stiles shakes his head. 

"Wanna come on your knot," he pants out. "I've never been knotted and I've always fantasized about coming while stuffed with one."

The knowledge that Stiles has never been with an alpha lights a fire in his belly and he strains upward, his cock thickening and the base of his knot starting to flare out. He holds Stiles' hips down and fucks upward, pounding into him from below, and Stiles cries out when Derek hits just the right spot. Derek knows he's close, and keeps hammering right into that spot. 

Stiles slumps forward, letting Derek use him like a rag doll, and the total surrender pushes Derek over. His knot pops fully and locks into Stiles, and his hips seize as he starts coming. 

"Stiles, fuck!" His cock swells impossibly larger as he spurts heavily, filling Stiles until he can feel come seeping out around the knot and down his balls. 

"Oh God,  _ Derek _ ," Stiles whines, trying to rock his hips more but getting caught on the knot, which limits his motion. Derek grips his cock and starts jerking him, and Stiles keens, arching into his fist while his hips stutter as he approaches orgasm. 

He comes with a strangled cry, heavy ribbons of it splattering Derek's belly and chest. Derek strokes him through it until his cock twitches one last time, then lifts his hand to his mouth to lick Stiles' come from his hand. 

Stiles leans against his chest as much as he can with Derek's knot still holding him in place, and sighs heavily. "Holy fucking hell, Derek. I think you just ruined me."

Derek wraps one arm over his back and rolls them gently to the side so Stiles can relax while they're tied together. He kisses Stiles' forehead and brushes a few sweaty brown strands back from his flushed skin. "Just wait. I plan to see how many times I can get you to come on my knot before it goes down."

The answer, for that night at least, is three. Stiles, delirious with pleasure, tries to quote the Tootsie Pop owl, but he can barely mumble the words against Derek's chest before he passes out. 

\-----

It strikes him, much later, that Stiles has slotted into his and Carter's lives seamlessly, as if he was always meant to be there. Or as if he always had been, and Derek just hadn't realized. 

Life doesn't change much, except for the addition of kissing, and sex.  _ So much _ sex. He greets Stiles with a kiss when he comes home now, instead of just longing to, and if Carter is in his own room, one of them will grope the other. Sometimes brief, sometimes leisurely, always with the heat of intent. 

Carter spends a lot of time with Aunt Laura and Aunt Lydia these days. 

The first time they'd had Laura and Lydia over for dinner, Laura had teased him endlessly about finally pulling his head out of his ass, and Lydia had raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow at Stiles in what Derek took to be an "I told you so" expression. It was compounded by the smug smile she flashed at him before taking a dainty sip of the Chateau Latour they'd broken out for the occasion.

They'd been more concerned about Carter's reaction to Stiles' changing role in his life, but his son had merely shrugged his shoulders when they sat him down to explain their new relationship. 

"All my friends and their parents always thought you were together anyway."

Derek had stared at him, mouth slightly open in either dismay or shock, he wasn't sure which, but Stiles had just laughed.

"Guess we weren't subtle about the way we felt about each other," he'd teased Derek. 

"So you're okay with this?" Derek prodded, just to make sure. 

Carter had rolled his eyes. "I'm not a baby anymore, Papa. I've been used to the idea for a long time. Can I go play video games now?"

And that was that. 

\-----

They’ve officially been together for only two weeks when Derek brings up the question that’s been on his mind since that first night. 

“Do you really want kids?”

Stiles twists in his arms, looking up at him pensively. “Technically, I already have one,” he points out, and it’s true. Stiles is more of a dad to Carter than his other biological father. “But to answer your actual question, yes. I didn’t think I did when I first took this job,” he admits, and Derek fights the instinctive sting of his words. “But then I got to know you, and Carter, and fell in love with the idea of having a family with you. Including a biological kid.”

Derek’s shoulders slump in relief, and he drops his face to Stiles’ shoulder. “I didn’t want you to feel you had to. Because of that night.”

“What, because you got seriously turned on by the idea of knocking me up?” Stiles asks, amused, nudging his shoulder up. Derek bites at it, smiling, beyond being embarrassed by the truth. “Maybe the idea of getting pregnant doesn’t get me wet, but it’s absolutely something I want. Now, anyway. Now that I have you, and Carter.”

“You don’t feel like we’re moving too fast?” Derek asks into his skin, and Stiles pulls away a little.

“If you’re having second thoughts…”

Derek’s head pops up, eyes wide and slightly panicked. “No, that’s not what I meant!” Stiles sags a little, concern fading from his expression. “It’s just, Stiles, you’re only twenty-four. Are you sure this is really what you want?”

Stiles’ fingers come up to thread through his hair and he strokes them over his scalp soothingly, almost like he’s petting Derek, and he sinks into it, letting his eyes drift shut again. “I promise, Derek. Maybe we jumped head-first, but this has been two years in the making. You felt it the day we met, didn’t you?” Derek nods. “I did, too. We’ve been heading here all along, and I don’t see any reason to pretend this isn’t what we both want.”

“I love you,” Derek breathes, and Stiles goes still beneath him, and Derek tenses. For all their talk of family, and babies, it  _ has _ only been two weeks. Maybe this  _ is _ too soon.

“I love you, too,” Stiles murmurs back, and Derek can feel the mood shift when he adds, “my alpha.”

Derek pulls back again, his eyes flashing red, and Stiles’ expression shifts to one of hunger. Derek rolls him over and slides between his legs, slipping inside easily.

After all, there’s no time like the present to fulfill their desire for another child.

\-----

The honeymoon period lasts for four months. Four wonderful, beautiful, passionate months.

Then Carter turns eight, and Derek’s ex-husband shows up.

\-----

Derek’s in the kitchen, cleaning up after lunch, when the doorbell rings. Stiles tells him he’ll get it, and Derek doesn’t think anything of it.

Until the door opens, and a familiar scent hits him, twisting his guts at the exact moment Stiles snarls, “Who the  _ fuck _ said you could show your face here?” 

Derek rushes into the living room, more interested in preventing a murder in his house than trying to deal with the mass of emotions stirred up by Jackson’s unannounced arrival.

“It’s my son’s birthday,” Jackson sneers, pushing past Stiles and waltzing into the house as if he lives here, which he hasn’t for many years. “Of course I’m going to be here.”

“You haven’t seen him since his  _ last _ birthday!” Stiles yells, shaking in rage, and Derek gets between them, eyes flashing red in warning. Stiles glares at Jackson but takes a step back, folding his arms over his chest and staring him down.

Jackson sniffs imperiously. “How is it any of your business? You’re just the hired help.”

Which is when Derek’s brain and voice start working again, and he glares at Jackson himself, his own rage barely contained. “Stiles and I are together,” he grits out, “and he’s more involved in raising Carter than you’ve been for his entire life. You’re not welcome here.”

Brushing off the dismissal, Jackson sneers at Stiles, giving him a dismissive once-over. “I should have expected you’d finally work your way into his pants. Your pathetic desperation has been obvious since he hired you.”

“How would you know?” Stiles snaps back. “You’ve only met me three times, because that’s exactly how many times you’ve bothered to see your son in the  _ two fucking years _ I worked here. Followed by the four months since I stopped being the ‘hired help’ and became a member of the family.”

A smirk spreads across his face. “Four months?” His gaze flickers down to Stiles’ flat stomach. “One of you isn’t up to snuff, apparently.”

“Jackson,” Derek growls. “Leave whatever ostentatious present you brought for Carter and just go.”

Rolling his eyes, Jackson steps closer to Stiles, murmuring conspiratorially, “You know I was pregnant with Carter three weeks after we started fucking, right?” A slimy, lizard-like grin splits his face, and the sight is disturbing. “They had to move the wedding up before I started to show. I’m surprised he hasn’t knocked you up yet. Maybe there’s something wrong with you, and Carter is destined to be an only child.”

“There’s  _ definitely _ something wrong with you,” Stiles hisses, eyes narrowed with spite and loathing. “Real parents don’t leave their kids and fuck off to another continent for a year.” His demeanor shifts, becomes something dark and cruel, when he gives an exaggerated shrug and says, “Must run in the family. Your parents abandoned you, so you abandoned your own son.”

Jackson’s haughty expression disappears and his eyes go black with fury. “You pathetic little bitch!” he yells, raising an arm to swing at Stiles, but Derek’s there before he can drop it. He grabs Jackson’s arm, his own eyes glowing a bright, burning red, and snarls. 

“Get the fuck out of our home!” he roars. Jackson blanches, showing a hint of fear for the first time, but he doesn’t back down entirely.

“Where’s Carter?” he asks, though his tone is muted. “Whatever you think of me, I’m still his father and it’s his birthday.”

“He’s at a friend’s house until it’s time for his party.” Derek glances at Stiles, who’s pale but still giving Jackson a death glare. “If you promise to leave and not come back, I’ll bring him to you afterward so you can see him and give him his gift. Take it, Jackson. It’s the best you’ll get from us.”

Jackson’s glance shifts from Derek to Stiles and back again. “Fine. I don’t want to spend any more time here than I have to.”

“Then you should be just fine with me saying you are never to come to this house again,” Stiles says, and his tone is pleasant but his eyes are cold. “This is my home now, and this is my family. They’re not yours anymore. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Don’t think I’m threatened by you,” he scoffs, but he spins on his heel and yanks the door open, then slams it behind him as he leaves.

They stand there for a moment, frozen, before Stiles sags into him like a marionette whose strings have been cut. Derek wraps his arms around him and they cling to each other until the tension passes and they can sort their minds around what just happened.

“I know it’s, generally, none of my business, but I have no idea how you ended up married to that soulless demon,” Stiles mumbles eventually.

Derek wars with himself before deciding it’s finally the time for honesty. It wasn’t something he’d ever felt the need to share with Stiles, considering Stiles was his employee and only needed to know that Carter’s other father may show up from time to time, but things have changed. He deserves to know.

“It was partially an arranged marriage, and partially a marriage of convenience,” he confesses, and Stiles blinks.

“That both makes complete sense and is also the last thing I ever expected.”

Sighing, Derek makes his way to the couch. Stiles sits beside him, facing him expectantly, but with an unusual amount of patience. “Our parents had known each other for years. They weren’t exactly friends, but associates. It was essentially decided that Jackson and I would make a good match, and they set us up. Neither of us was all that interested in the other, but Jackson liked the idea of marrying into a family even more wealthy than his own, and I needed a well-bred partner who looked good and could say the right things at work events. Plus, he was an omega, and it was expected that I’d have a family young so I’d look like a devoted family man as I rose up the ranks.”

He can hear the bitterness in his voice, knows Stiles can hear it as well, but all he does is cover Derek’s hand with his own and squeeze. Derek squeezes back, takes another breath, and continues. “The physical part of our relationship never lacked, but it was the only thing that didn’t. We had lots of sex so we didn’t have to actually talk to each other. Every time we had to have an actual conversation it was horrible. He didn’t care about anything I had to say, and I realized I disliked him so much I didn’t want to listen to anything he might actually care about.”

“Why did you go through with the wedding?” 

There’s no judgment in Stiles’ tone, only curiosity, but Derek deflates anyway. “Like Jackson said, he ended up pregnant pretty quickly, and I wasn’t going to back out on my obligations. I was excited about the baby, at least, and I could ignore Jackson. The wedding became a whirlwind event and we were married before he started to show, but he was so miserable throughout the pregnancy, about everything, that it wasn’t a surprise he left before Carter was six months old.”

Stiles’ eyes narrow and the expression on his face turns murderous. Derek had only explained that he and his husband had divorced when Carter was young. He’d never mentioned  _ how _ young.

“You pretty much know the rest. Jackson shows up a few times a year to play at being a father, then goes back to Europe to live the high life he knew he was never going to have while being married to me.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything for a long while, just holds Derek’s hand, and it’s that simple gesture of compassion and quiet support that allows Derek to push Jackson to the back of his mind. “He’s not important, not anymore. He never really was, except that I wouldn’t have Carter without him.”

“He was an incubator,” Stiles says bluntly, and Derek can’t help but crack a smile. Stiles isn’t wrong. “He delivered a healthy child so you could have the family you wanted, then left. I’m assuming he got paid for his time?”

It’s a crude way to put it, but it’s essentially accurate. “The courts called it alimony.” His smile grows a little, somewhat sheepish. “I privately called it a severance package.”

Stiles laughs, loudly, and the last lingering vestiges of anxiety and tension disappear like smoke. “So you take Carter to see him tonight, then tell him to get the fuck out and not come back without pre-approval and a plan to meet on neutral territory. We can’t keep Carter from seeing him, but we can make it happen on our terms.”

Derek’s heart stutters at how easily Stiles says “we” and “our”. “You’re around for the long haul, aren’t you?” he asks, but it’s not a question. It never really has been.

Stiles softens, and he leans in to press a warm, lingering kiss to Derek’s mouth. “I’m here for forever, if you’ll have me.”

Derek will.

\-----

As Stiles’ heat approaches, he gets more and more morose about not being pregnant yet. Derek doesn’t know what to say to him other than the fact he still loves Stiles, and doesn’t care if they never have a child together. Stiles and Carter will always be enough for him.

It’s the wrong thing to say, apparently. Stiles retreats even further, and Derek doesn’t know how to bring him back.

Laura and Lydia take Carter on vacation for the week of Stiles’ heat. They have so much sex Derek isn’t sure how their bodies are still producing fluid. They fuck over every surface in the house, and Derek knots Stiles more times than he knew he was capable of. He’s never come so many times in such a short period of time in his life. 

“There’s no way you’re not pregnant by now,” Derek pants as he cuddles into Stiles’ back, having just knotted him again, feeling like he’s been racing for days and his heart can’t keep up.

Stiles clenches down around his knot, milking him as he frantically strokes his own cock, coming around him without fanfare. He collapses onto the pillow and leans back against Derek’s chest, hair soaking wet and curling against Derek’s cheek. “If I’m not, then we know I’m just not capable of it, and it’s never going to happen.” 

How like Stiles to be positively cheerful in his dire predictions.

\-----   


Months go by and Stiles shows no signs of being pregnant. Derek watches helplessly as he grows more and more withdrawn. Even Carter gets worried. 

“Papa, what’s wrong with Stiles?”

Stiles is in the kitchen making dinner, so Derek pats the empty space on the bed beside him and Carter crawls onto it, tucking his cheek against Derek’s bicep. “Stiles and I want to have another baby,” he begins, which isn’t news to Carter. “But it doesn’t look like it’s going to happen, and Stiles is stressed about it. I think he’s trying to come to terms with the fact that we might not get what we want.”

“I wish he wasn’t so stressed out. Doesn’t he know how much we love him?” Carter asks, worry evident in his tone, and Derek slides an arm around him and squeezes tight.

“Of course he does. It’s not that we’re not enough for him. It’s just that it’s hard when you want something really badly and you can’t have it.”

Carter leans into the hug. “Maybe he should try not to stress about it anymore. If it happens, it happens, and if it doesn’t, it won’t help to be stressed out.”

Derek stares down at his son in amazement. Not only is he far more perceptive and wise than Derek had imagined an eight-year-old could be, he also just gave Derek a fantastic idea.

“Dinner’s ready!” Stiles calls, and Derek and Carter both pry themselves out of the bed and make their way downstairs.

Before Stiles can even make a move toward the table, Carter throws his arms around Stiles’ waist and smushes his cheek into Stiles’ chest. “I love you,” he says quietly, and Stiles’ arms go around Carter’s shoulders, holding on helplessly as he looks at Derek over Carter’s head. 

Derek, for his part, feels a suspicious tightening in his chest.

“I love you too, kiddo,” he replies, voice equally as soft, and that tightening becomes an overflow of emotion.

Pulling back, Carter looks up at him seriously. “Is it okay if I call you Daddy?”

Tears slip down Stiles’ face as he nods, and Derek steps in to wrap his arms around both Stiles and Carter, holding them close to his heart.

\-----

"Are you going to explain to me what this is all about?" 

Derek guides a blind-folded Stiles into the dining room and nuzzles in behind his ear. "Why would I blindfold you, only to tell you exactly what I'm doing?" 

Stiles hums in acknowledgement of the logical argument. "I've always hated when people ask that question in the movies, because it's stupid. But I'm living it now, and I'm impatient, and I want to know, so I get the asking."

He skims a kiss across the back of Stiles' neck and reaches up to untie the blindfold. "You don't have to ask anymore."

Stiles blinks at the flood of light, then at the sight in front of him. "You cooked? I didn't know you knew how to do that." Derek hesitates, and Stiles laughs. "You ordered in. That makes more sense."

"It's not that I don't know how," he protests. "It's just been a really long time since I had to, and I didn't want to mess it up."

"Thank you," Stiles says, and his voice is sincere, so Derek feels a bit better. "But I'm guessing the flowers, the candles, the mood lighting, that was all you?" 

Derek nods in affirmation. "I realized we've never had a date night in the entire time we've been together, and I wanted to give you a night that’s all about you."

"You're a sap." Stiles kisses him on the cheek. "And I love you for it."

Their dinner table conversation feels different than normal, and Derek gets the sense that Stiles is really making an effort. Not that he doesn't usually, but he seems to be focusing on them, as opposed to all the outside influences in their lives. It makes the half hour they spend at the table pleasant and fun, and Derek doesn't remember the last time he enjoyed a meal so much. 

"Are you going to make me clean up again?" Stiles asks pointedly when they start clearing the table afterward. 

"First off, if you'll recall, I didn't end up making you clean the last time," Derek reminds him. "Secondly, are you ever going to quit whining about it?" 

Stiles makes a face at him. "It was cruel and unusual punishment. I'd had that plug in for hours and I was ready to cry if I couldn't get your dick in me immediately."

"Fortunately for you, I couldn't resist doing exactly that." His voice is smoky, and he can hear the uptick in Stiles' heartbeat at the shift in tone. 

"So you're saying if I shake my ass at you now, you'll dick me down?" His expression is hopeful and Derek has to will himself not to give in. 

"As charming as that invitation is, I'm going to have to say no for now." At Stiles' crestfallen face, he adds, "Don't pout. It's not becoming."

"I can pout if I want to. You're putting out all these signals and now you're saying no."

He heads into the living room, scoffing, "I can't help it that you're permanently horny. You think me reading the newspaper is my way of saying I'm down to fuck."

Stiles follows him. "It has to be a coded message. Nobody in this day and age reads a newspaper, Der."

Derek rolls his eyes and drops down onto the couch. "You're lucky I love you, because you're a pain in my ass."

Stiles climbs into his lap. "Funny, I can't say the same about you. You always feel good in my ass."

Derek runs his hands up and down Stiles' back, sliding his palms under the hem of his tee and over the warm skin underneath. “You’re trying to tempt me.”

“It’s working,” Stiles tells him cheekily, rolling his hips against the hardening length of Derek’s cock. 

“I’m not a slave to my dick.”

“No, but you’re a slave to mine.” Stiles punctuates his statement with another decisive thrust down, and Derek sighs. Stiles takes that as permission and rolls to the side, shimmying his pants, underwear, and shirt off, then rolling back into Derek’s lap.

“I had plans for tonight,” he protests, but he knows he’s not winning this fight.

“So did I. They involve your dick in my ass.”

Derek gazes up into Stiles’ face, rueful. “I wanted to make out on the couch while we ignore whatever movie we put on, and give you a massage, and cuddle you. I wanted to make tonight special and romantic.”

“The dinner with fancy candles and flowers and soft lighting was plenty romantic,” Stiles assures him. “And the massage sounds fantastic, but, like,  _ after _ you fuck my brains out.”

His tone is resigned. “Do you have even a  _ single _ romantic bone in your body?”

Stiles gives him a blinding grin, and Derek already knows what’s coming next. “Sure I do, sometimes. But it’s yours, and it’s located in my ass.”

“You annoy me.”

“You love me. Now kiss me.”

Because it’s Stiles, and he  _ does _ love him, he does as he’s told.

Stiles melts happily into the kiss, biting at Derek’s lip and clutching his shoulders as Derek palms his ass. They kiss until they’re breathless, break apart to gasp for air, then come back together with hungry fervor.

Derek pulls back to start dropping open-mouthed kisses down Stiles' throat and over his collarbone, breath catching in his throat at the way Stiles tips his head back, exposing the long line of it while his eyes drift closed. A soft, rumbling moan slips past his lips, and Derek licks at the hollow of his throat to feel the sounds as they pass through. 

When Stiles rocks his hips forward, the hard length of his cock slides alongside the bulge of Derek's and up his stomach, leaving a thin wet trail of precome on his dress shirt. Slick drips onto Derek's thighs and down between them, and he instinctively clutches Stiles' ass, pulling the cheeks apart. The scent of a fresh wave of slick hits his nose and Derek nearly growls. 

"Fuck me," Stiles breathes, reaching for the belt buckle and lifting his hips to line himself up with Derek's cock, but Derek's hands tighten on his hips and stop him. 

"Not yet," he murmurs, and he sees just a flash of bafflement on Stiles' face before he flips him so that Stiles is still in his lap, but facing away. 

He runs the pad of his thumb down the line of Stiles' spine, feeling the ridge of each vertebra under the thin skin, until he reaches the swell of Stiles' ass. Replacing his thumb with his index finger, he goes further until his fingertip drags through the top of Stiles' cheeks. 

Wordlessly, he places his hand on Stiles' back and pushes him forward, opening him up as his hips tilt. The hard line of his dick presses into Derek's thigh, wet and leaking, and Derek shifts beneath him to increase the pressure. 

The air is thick with desire, with anticipation, and neither speaks, but neither is silent. Stiles breathes heavily, moaning when Derek slips his finger into the pink rim that's dripping with slick. Derek growls softly at the feel of Stiles opening up around his fingertip, pushing it in gently until the entire thick digit is deep inside. 

The angle is still somewhat awkward, though, so Derek breaks the silence. "Get on your knees," he commands, pulling at Stiles' thighs. "Like this, but with your legs under you." Stiles does, and then leans forward until his back arches, his hands planted on the floor and his ass presented. 

NSFW GIF ahead, click to skip

Safe to look again

Derek groans, his dick thickening at the sight of Stiles' ass so gloriously open and wet, shiny with slick. Stiles shifts his hips up, likely trying to encourage Derek to touch him, but Derek doesn't want to rush this. Instead, he runs his hands lightly over Stiles' ass, continuing down his thighs, skimming his palms back and forth from knees to cheeks. The muscles in his ass tighten under Derek's ministrations, flexing involuntarily. 

"Fuck, Derek, stop teasing," Stiles bites out, and Derek lifts his own hips so Stiles' cock drags over the bulge in his pants. Stiles ruts down against him, but Derek drops his hips and breaks the connection. Stiles whines.

"I'm taking my time with you tonight," Derek says, voice low and gritty. "I'm going to take you apart so you're mindless before I enter you."

"Already there," Stiles pants, and Derek chuckles. 

"You only think you are. I'm taking you beyond what you thought your limits were."

Another blurt of liquid slides wetly down Stiles' thighs and he lets out a whimper on a long, slow exhale. 

Slowly, Derek lifts Stiles' hips until he's nearly hanging in mid-air, hands scrabbling for purchase on Derek's thighs as Derek lowers his mouth to press a feathery kiss to the split of Stiles' cheeks. An unholy moan tears from Stiles' chest when Derek's tongue slips inside, searching out the deepest parts of him, sliding through the slick, tight ring of muscle like a knife. 

Curses and supplications spill from Stiles' lips until he's sobbing from Derek's thorough exploration of his ass. He trembles as Derek's beard scrapes at the tender, thin skin, but Derek is so consumed with an overwhelming kind of euphoria that he almost doesn't notice. 

In fact, it isn't until Stiles grates out a mangled, "Oh fuck,  _ Derek _ !" and comes all over his thighs, that the fog clears from Derek's mind and he realizes Stiles is boneless, quaking, and still mostly hanging upside down. 

He gently lowers Stiles onto his lap, shifting him upright so Stiles can curl into his chest. "Holy shit. I've lost count of the number of times you've made me come, but I think that one is going to make me forget all of them."

A laugh rumbles in his chest and he strokes his hand leisurely down Stiles' back, then trails it upward again. "I wanted to turn you inside out until you had no choice but to relax."

"Mission accomplished," he sighs. "But now I really, really want you to fuck me. Could you please stop teasing?" 

"You think me making you come so hard you forget which way is up is teasing?" Derek counters, and his tone is deceptively mild. Stiles studies him, eyes narrowed. 

"Fine. No teasing. But I still want you to fuck me."

Derek's tempted to dump Stiles off his lap for being a brat, but tonight is exclusively for Stiles--his pleasure, his comfort, and his happiness. So Derek magnanimously, and gently, lifts him and settles him on the cushion beside his own. 

Stiles' eyes brighten as Derek's fingers make quick work of slipping his buttons from their holes, then he leans forward and shrugs the shirt from his shoulders. They turn wide and greedy as sleek, gleaming muscles come into view, and Derek fights back the urge to smirk. It's long since stopped being a secret that Stiles finds him attractive to distraction, but tonight his focus is laser-sharp. 

"Like what you see?" he teases, lip quirking despite his best efforts. 

Stiles flicks a glance at his mouth before looking back down. "Maybe. A little. I'll like it more once those come off," he adds, gesturing at Derek's pants. 

Derek plays with the end of his belt, sliding it as if he intends to let it slip loose from the buckle, then letting it go so it slots back into place. Stiles' gaze burns with frustration, but he keeps his lips pressed together in a tight line. To reward him, Derek finally pulls the strap free with a quiet snick of leather on metal. 

Lifting his hips, Derek pushes at the fabric around them until it slides down and over his ass and thighs. A soft groan tumbles over Stiles' lips. 

"You went commando today?" he breathes out, and this time Derek  _ does _ smirk. "You just, like, sat at the office all day with your dick hanging free?" 

He doesn't answer, because it's obvious, and continues working the pants down his legs until he can kick them off. Stiles reaches for him, but he bats the greedy hands away and strokes himself instead, almost casually, gaze skimming Stiles' flushed chest with interest. His cock is still soft after just coming, but there's leftover slick on his thighs and spots of drying come on his stomach, his hair has finger tracks through it, and he looks thoroughly fucked. 

Derek strokes himself a little faster. 

"Please." Stiles' voice sounds raw, his eyes wide and wet and liquid gold. "I need to touch you, or taste you, or  _ something  _ before I go crazy from it."

And Derek can't deny him, which Stiles can tell instantly from the way his shoulders drop in capitulation. Stiles slithers off the couch and drops between Derek's knees, hands on thighs and pressing them outward so he can settle in comfortably. 

Before Derek can even breathe, Stiles lowers his mouth and takes Derek's cock into it, inhaling him nearly to the back of his throat. His hips buck upward instinctively and he can feel Stiles open around him as his head pushes through. 

"Jesus, Stiles!" he chokes out, and the irony of _ him _ being the one to choke while Stiles is the one with a throatful of cock isn't lost on him. 

Stiles hums, and Derek's pretty sure he'd be smiling if his lips weren't already stretched to their limit. The vibrations thrum up his dick and he trembles, trying not to mindlessly thrust forward. He knows Stiles would be fine with it, would love it, actually, but Derek doesn't want to just fuck his face until they're both brainless and Stiles has a belly full of come. 

Leaning back against the couch, Derek tries to relax a little while Stiles sucks the life from him. He lets his eyes drift shut and concentrates on the feel of Stiles' mouth around his cock, the way his tongue curls around the hard length, the grip of his long fingers around the base where Derek's knot will swell when he's fucking Stiles properly. He breathes through his teeth when the syrupy, pulsing heat in his balls and stomach becomes a tingling sensation, warning him that he needs to slow this down right now. 

"Stiles." The words come out as a croak and he has to clear his throat. "Stiles, baby. You have to stop."

Stiles looks up at him with eyes that war between betrayal and insolence. He looks like he's going to ignore Derek, so Derek pulls out his ace card. "My knot isn't far off. I need to be inside you.  _ Now _ ."

Stiles pulls off him, though with obvious reluctance. "Sure," he says, voice hoarse from having his throat fucked, "you want to fuck me when  _ you  _ need it, but when  _ I _ do…"

"You're being a brat," he chides, but it's with amused affection. "Do you want my knot to pop without you on it? Because that would just be a waste." 

"Not if you knotted my mouth," Stiles retorts, and  _ oh _ . That thought makes him twitch. He'd never considered it before, it was the kind of thing most alphas assumed they'd get only if they paid for it, but he should have known. Stiles loves having a dick in his throat far too much to shy away from having a knot locked behind his teeth. 

"Next time," he promises, and he means it. 

Stiles lifts himself off the floor, groaning a little as he stretches, and Derek's pleased to see his dick fully hard again. He wants to swallow it down, wants Stiles to stand over him on the couch and fuck  _ his _ face into the back of it, but he has a purpose for tonight. He wants Stiles pregnant by the end of it, which means he needs to be inside Stiles when his knot swells, and he wasn't lying when he said it wasn't far off. 

Stiles climbs into his lap, shifting until his thighs are on either side of Derek's, and sinks down. The breach of Derek's cock pressing thickly into Stiles' ass is easier now, practiced, but it still takes both of their breath away. Stiles whimpers as Derek fills him, slick puddling at the base of his cock and dripping down between his thighs. Derek grits his teeth, willing himself not to come and knot Stiles immediately. 

Instead, he holds Stiles' hips still to prevent him from rising up and thrusting back down. He peers into Stiles' passion-clouded eyes, warmth and love surging through him, and leans forward to trail kisses over Stiles' jaw. 

Stiles whimpers at the scrape of Derek's beard against his skin. "Fuck, Derek, I love you. So goddamn much."

"I love you, Stiles," he breathes, suckling at Stiles' throat, leaving a blooming purple bruise that fills him with a sense of possession and pride. "You and Carter are the best things to ever happen to me."

He can feel Stiles tense up, likely reminded of what their life is missing, but Derek refuses to let that happen. He lifts Stiles and then slowly, achingly, slides him back down the full length of his cock. Stiles' mouth drops open slightly and a soft groan whispers over his lips, his eyes fluttering shut when Derek bottoms out and the coarse curls at the base of his dick grind against Stiles' ass, soaking them in slick. 

"None of that tonight," he murmurs, licking the length of the bruise, leaving it wet and shiny. "Tonight is you and me, how much we love each other, how much we please each other."

Stiles loops his arms around Derek's neck and kisses him until his lips are bruised and wet and stinging with beard burn. He shifts back and forth on Derek's cock, but it's leisurely, unhurried, and secondary to the comparative innocence of allowing themselves to get lost in kissing, in tasting each other. 

Derek feels like he could do this forever, just get lost in Stiles and never come up for air. Stiles, however, doesn’t have a measurable amount of patience on the best of days, and his willingness to take things slow and easy evaporates when he realizes Derek isn’t going to pick up the pace. 

"Move," he demands, and leads by example. 

Derek stutters out a choking laugh when Stiles lifts up and drops right back down like a lead weight. "Bossy little shit."

"You've known this about me since I started working for you," Stiles reminds him, rolling his hips sinuously, and Derek starts to lose the thread of the conversation. 

"I'm sure you weren't," he says, but his voice is faint and he's distracted by the decisive downward thrusts that are currently destroying every last one of his functioning brain cells. 

Stiles seems to be having the same problem, because all he does is let out a little hum of vague disagreement and grind down on Derek's dick. 

"What were we talking about?" Derek asks, when his brain comes back online. 

"I don't know." He grabs one of Derek's hands and wraps it around his cock, guiding Derek into jerking him while Stiles continues working his hips. "The last thing I heard that mattered was about you and your knot. Which I'm ready for. Anytime."

Derek thumbs at Stiles' slit, pulling the slippery beads of precome down the thin skin of his dick and wetting it, slicking it up to smooth Derek's strokes. Stiles whimpers and arches into his tight grip, his motions slowing. Derek flicks his thumb back over the head, over and over until Stiles trembles, letting out a low, broken moan. 

"I'm so fucking close," he mumbles, eyes closed prayerfully. Derek thinks it's slightly ironic, because he looks like sin. 

Wrapping an arm around Stiles' waist, Derek takes back control and thrusts upward with enough force to make Stiles tumble forward. He buries his face in Derek's neck, licking and biting and sucking in turns while Derek drives into him with fierce determination. 

"Knot me, Der," he whines, dropping his hips as Derek lifts his. "I need it. I need  _ you _ ."

"You have me," he vows. "Always."

He can feel the rapid swelling under his skin and he pulls Stiles down hard, locking into him with a full-body shudder and deep moan. He drops his face to Stiles' shoulder, mouthing at it as he comes, his hips jerking through the tremors. It takes a full ten seconds until he's done coming, and he blinks lethargically when he remembers to breathe again, feeling like he's swimming through pudding. 

Stiles pulls on his cock, working himself on Derek's as much as he can, though the knot ties them together so tightly there's very little room to move. Come seeps out around Derek's balls with every shift, because Stiles is over-full with it. His mouth has fallen open and he's panting through the last few strokes. Derek leans in and slides his mouth over Stiles' open one, pushing his tongue in, and Stiles cries out against his lips when he finally reaches that peak. 

Come streaks over Derek's belly and chest, catching on his nipples and dripping from the grooves of his abs. The head of Stiles' cock slides through the mess when he twitches forward through the aftershocks. Derek scoops some up with his finger and sucks it into his mouth, breathing out a satisfied sigh. 

Stiles grabs his chin and kisses him again, tasting himself on Derek's tongue, and leans into him, capturing the squish of come between their chests. "I love you," he says again, and Derek doesn't even think. 

"Marry me."

To Stiles' credit, he doesn't even act shocked. "You are such a cliche," he snorts. "Knotted up inside an omega you've just pumped full of come, and you're talking marriage."

"I bought the ring six months ago," Derek informs him, voice dry as chardonnay, and Stiles blinks at him, nonplussed. "We'd just had a fight and I had this thought that I'd rather fight with you than live happily ever after with anyone else. I went out and bought it the next morning, before I even got to work."

"I don't know if that's sweet or disturbing," Stiles tells him, but he's grinning widely, and Derek doesn't care if it's disturbing. 

"Marry me," he repeats, because Stiles still hasn't answered him. 

"Obviously, you dork." 

Stiles sinks into Derek's mouth again, and Derek's fingers dig into his shoulders, holding him close until he's lost in thoughts of what their future will bring. 

\-----

Derek notices a difference in Stiles almost immediately. He's less morose, flirts more, plays with Carter more rambunctiously than Carter himself, and whistles while cooking dinner, which he hasn't done in months. 

Derek isn't sure if it was the incredible sex or the proposal, but either way, that night did the trick.

Their lovemaking is even different. They're relaxed again, playful, and there's a lot more oral now that the unspoken pressure is off for Derek to knot Stiles every time they have sex. He still knots Stiles, it just isn't always his ass. 

He looks for signs that Stiles might be pregnant, of course, but he's not as obsessive about it as he used to be. And Stiles doesn't mention it once. 

He's beginning to believe life couldn't get more perfect. 

\-----

“Papa, you’re home!” 

Derek laughs when Carter leaps at him. “It’s generally a thing that happens at six o’clock. Did you think I wasn’t coming home today? Or was Daddy a slavedriver and you need a rescue?”

Carter wraps around Derek with monkey legs and blows a raspberry on his cheek. “Nope! Daddy has been in a great mood all day. He didn’t even make me do my homework!”

“He didn’t?” Derek makes a  _ tsk _ ing face and calls into the kitchen, “What do I pay you for if you’re not even going to make sure my child is well-educated?”

Stiles dances out of the kitchen, sticking his tongue out before leaning in and planting a smacking kiss on Derek’s other cheek. “You don’t pay me anymore, remember? Otherwise I’d just be a prostitute.”

Carter wrinkles his nose. “What’s a prostitute?”

“Something you’ll learn about when you start attending Papa’s country club,” Stiles says breezily, and Derek snorts. “Dinner is almost ready. Why don’t you two get cleaned up?”

“You think I’m not clean?” Derek pretends to be offended.

Stiles ignores him and gives him an impish grin instead. “I’d like you a little less buttoned up tonight.”

Amused, Derek snakes an arm around Stiles’ waist and pulls him in for a deep, lingering kiss. “Planning to seduce me?” he murmurs.

Stiles pulls away, pecks him on the lips, and dances back into the kitchen. “Something like that,” he calls out over his shoulder.

Derek decides to follow instructions and heads upstairs to change out of his suit and into his oldest, softest blue henley and a pair of dark gray lounge pants. “Can’t get less buttoned up than this,” he tells himself. 

When he makes his way back down to the kitchen, Carter’s wearing PJs and half a brownie on his face. 

“Carter!” he scolds, but it doesn’t have any heat to it. His eyes flick to Stiles. “Dessert  _ before _ dinner? You’re spoiling our son.”

Stiles freezes for a moment, then resumes pulling the roast out of the crock pot. “I had a good day. I wanted to share my good mood.” He tips his chin slightly when Derek eases in behind him to grab plates from the cupboard, and Derek takes the opportunity to press another kiss to his upturned mouth. 

“I’m glad you had a good day. Especially if it means we get your mouth-watering roast.” Stiles flicks him with the dish towel and Derek laughs, taking the plates and silverware to the table. “Help me set this,” he tells Carter, and hands him the silverware.

They move in tandem, Derek setting the plates down and Carter following behind him to place the knives and forks at each one. Derek gestures at the napkin holder with his chin, and Carter grabs a few to put at their place settings.

“I thought you were about ready in there,” he teases Stiles, who makes a face at him when he comes out with the roast dish in both hands, his hands covered in the lumpy potholders that were a result of one of his and Carter’s craft projects. 

“You can’t rush perfection,” he retorts, and Derek can’t resist smacking him on the ass when he leans forward to put the roast on the table. Carter groans in embarrassment and Stiles pops up with an outraged look on his face. “Excuse you, mister. We haven’t even had dinner yet.”

“Tradition is overrated,” Derek replies dryly, but he seats himself anyway. Carter and Stiles follow.

They’re halfway through dinner when Stiles looks at Derek with dismay. “Crap, I forgot about the oven. Can you go pull the tray out and turn the oven off?”

Derek nods, standing up and heading into the kitchen. He flips the oven switch and reaches in with another potholder to grab the tray, but when he slides it out, he’s puzzled. Sticking his head back into the dining room, he holds out the tray with a single roll on it. “Any reason why there was only one roll in the oven?”

Stiles grins at him, eyes sparkling. “I wouldn’t call that a roll.”

Glancing back down at the pretzel bun, Derek realizes his mistake and rolls his eyes. “Fine. A bun. Why was there a single bun in the…” He trails off, eyes going wide when the phrase he's about to say catches up with his brain.

The grin on Stiles’ face is so brilliant it can be seen from the moon, he’s pretty sure. His stomach swoops and he clutches the door to the dining room, the tray dropping from his hand, unheeded, onto the floor. “Are you…?”

Stiles shrugs, but his eyes look watery by this point. “I figured if I have a bun in the oven, you should get one too.”

Derek rushes into the dining room and pulls Stiles straight out of his chair and into Derek’s arms. “You’re pregnant?” Stiles nods against his shoulder. He can feel the wetness against his henley, and hear Stiles sniffle. “When? How long have you known?”

“When? Pretty sure the night you proposed. How long have I known? A few hours. But I’ve suspected for about a week, I was just too scared to take the test.” He’s laughing now, and crying, and Derek’s shoulder is a mess, and Carter is looking at them in bewilderment, and Derek doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy in his entire life.

“You’re going to have a little sibling,” he explains, and Carter’s eyes go huge and he runs for the both of them, throwing his arms around them. Stiles moves back and Carter squeezes into the wedge of space left, his face buried in the sides of their chests. 

Derek can’t help but lower his gaze, and even though Stiles’ stomach is still flat, Derek knows if he put his hand over it he’d feel the little life growing behind it. Dropping to his knees, he presses his ear to Stiles’ stomach. Stiles laughs, lifting one hand and tunneling his fingers through Derek’s hair, eyes soft and glowing with affection. Carter’s small, warm hand finds his neck and wraps around the back of it, holding them close despite Derek’s new location on the floor.

When he strains his ears to the limits of their ability, he hears, faintly, a thrumming sound not unlike hummingbird wings. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Stiles wipes the tears from his cheeks with his thumbs. From his knees, he looks up at the man who’s become the love of his life, which Derek never thought he would get to have. “I love you so goddamn much.”

“Language,” Stiles tsks, but he’s wiping away tears of his own. “I love you too, Derek. And you,” he adds, his free arm tightening around Carter’s shoulder. 

"Can I name the baby?" Carter asks, and Derek laughs through his tears. 

"Maybe Daddy should get a say," he tells his son. "After all, he's the one who has to carry them for the next eight months."

"I'm accepting suggestions," Stiles offers, and Derek's heart squeezes. He has his fiance, his son, and his child-to-be. If anyone had told him eight years ago that he would end up here, he would have laughed, bitterly, in their faces. 

He's never been happier to be proven wrong. 

\-----

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" 

Stiles groans, hefting himself out of his chair and doing an awkward half-bow. "Thank you, everyone. And I'll thank you in advance for not making any comments about the amount of cake my fat ass is going to eat."

"I make no promises," Lydia warns him, but she's smiling when she pats his beach ball-shaped stomach. 

Derek presses a kiss to his husband's cheek. "Happy birthday, baby."

Stiles elbows him, grumbling, "I'm mad at you. You promised me  _ last _ year that it was the last birthday I'd have to spend pregnant."

"It's all your fault for wearing those jeans that were practically painted on," Derek replies glibly. "How was I supposed to resist you?" 

"You'd think after three kids my body wouldn't hold that much appeal," Stiles complains, but he looks pleased anyway. 

Derek sneaks an arm around what's left of his waist and tugs him closer. "If you think I'll ever not want you, you're crazy."

"Okay, you two, stop being gross. There are a lot of children present, all of them yours," Laura cuts in. She kisses Stiles on the cheek. "Happy birthday to my favorite brother." 

Derek rolls his eyes, but refrains from commenting. It's Laura's goal in life to rile him up as often as possible, and his to thwart her. "You better have brought a good present."

"I got him birth control," she snarks, and Stiles snorts. "Also, Lydia and I will take the kids for a week so you two can get away before our new little nibling makes their appearance."

"Are you sure you can handle all four of them for a week?" Derek asks, raising a doubtful eyebrow. 

Stiles waves a hand at his face. "Of course she's sure. There's nothing Laura and Lydia can't handle.  _ Now stop trying to talk her out of her very generous gift, _ " he adds, sotto voce. 

Laura laughs. "It's okay, we're looking forward to it. I think Lydia secretly loves having them around, honestly."

"I plead the fifth," Lydia says, voice crisp, as she joins the conversation. "Although I'll say that, for young children, they're not completely intolerable." 

"It's a shame you never had kids of your own," Stiles clucks, shaking his head. "You're so maternal."

Lydia flips her hair over her shoulder. "Bite me."

"I think we'll leave that to Laura," Stiles teases, and Lydia makes a face at him. 

Angel runs up to Derek and Stiles then, tugging on Stiles' shirt. "Can we have cake now, Daddy?" she pleads, and neither of her fathers can say no to the giant, whiskey-gold eyes she inherited from Stiles.

"Of course, baby." Derek picks her up and swings her onto his hip, and her chubby three-year-old arms wrap around his neck so tight he almost chokes. "But Daddy gets the first piece, okay? It's his birthday, after all." 

Stiles gestures for Carter, A.J., and Eliza to join them as they head into the dining room. "Go ahead and serve the kids first." One hand drops to his swollen belly and the other slides around Derek's waist. "I have everything I could ever want already."

Derek leans in to give his husband a long, tender kiss, and tunes out the chorus of "eww, Papa!" from his kids. Stiles smiles into the kiss and their teeth click together, and Derek can't help smiling back. 

He has everything  _ he _ could ever want, and more than he ever could have dreamed of. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](https://cobrilee.tumblr.com/)!


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